A Life
by Mordreds Girl
Summary: You win, of course; because you are Light and he is Dark, you are Good and he is Evil. And that's the way the world works. AU.


You win, of course; because you are Light and he is Dark, you are Good and he is Evil.

And that's the way the world works.

000

The people worship you now more than ever, and you hate it. But every time you tell them to stop they smile and nod, but the moment you turn your back they go about their ways. _"Sankt Alina is so modest and demure is she not?"_

You wants to tear them apart, how modest and demure is that?

000

You wake gasping from another nightmare. These days they are all about the Fold, the volcra, what you had to do to save them, to kill them.

Mal wakes up beside you, his lean body is warm as he pulls you into an embrace. "Shhh, Alina. It was just another nightmare."

But they're never just that anymore.

000

You always visit Genya's grave out of guilt. You know she was not your friend, but she tried to help you in her own way and got killed for it.

The graves of all the fallen Grisha now dot the grounds of the Little Palace at your insistence; a way to remind everyone what has been lost. Even Baghra's grave is here, somewhere. Your guilt has not yet driven you to find it, to beg it for forgiveness too.

000

The cells down here get no light at all, and while you could summon a light to show you the way, you don't. Light would mean you're really doing this.

So you fumble and trip your way down to the deepest, darkest cell of them all, far below all the others.

You know when you get there. Even with no power, you burned it out of him on that killing field, the presence of the Darkling is unmistakable. You don't say anything, nor do you summon a light, you give no hint of your presence; just stare at the darkness and where you think he might be.

You are slightly ashamed that, even after all the horrors and atrocities he has committed, you could not kill him.

"Alina."

You run back to the light.

000

He told you once, years ago now, that your fates were entwined. You recall this as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Your left hand, glinting scales at the wrist, trace where wrinkles should be forming, fingers pinch tight skin that should be loose.

You stop looking after your eyes have gone red from crying. _But you will grow powerful, and he will grow old._

000

You awake gasping again, though this time there is no Mal to calm you. He was called away to track a wolf, a man killer.

As you climb out of bed, scale, antler, and bone feel like iron chains weighing you down. For a moment you wonder if this was how Sankt Ilya felt. But then you throw the curtains back on a nearby window and daylight tosses off such morbid thoughts.

You know you have advanced Etherealki classes you should be preparing to teach, politics to deal with, problems of supplies and Grisha postings to solve, but still you stand and watch birds flit and squabble over the seed someone has spread over the snow.

You manage not to think of stroking hands, or shadows, until after Mal gets back. And by then you have different hands to distract you.

000

"Do you want children Alina?"

Mal's question takes you by surprise. "I don't know."

It is another year before he brings up the question again, but this time you know your answer. "Yes."

000

Another year has passed; and you can feel desperation beating in your chest like a second heartbeat. Even the peasantry have heard that you are trying to get with child and they pray for a miracle.

One day you smother the desperation inside you and decide that you will give them one.

000

And nine months later you give birth to a squalling baby girl. Mal's happiness as he takes the baby from you to hold, is infectious and you find yourself smiling.

000

You name her Baghra.

As the years pass you watch her, equally fearful and hopeful that she will be a Grisha. You don't heave a sigh of relief when the examiners find nothing, they're not infallible.

But as more time passes you realize she's as _otkazat'sya_ as Mal, you don't know whether to be relieved or cry.

000

Generations pass and you watch your descendants as they live and love.

Mal is gone now. _. . .and you will watch him die. . ._ The court and Grisha no longer call you Alina. To them you are only Lightbringer, a power not a person. Then again some days you feel like Alina doesn't exist anymore, that she was only a face Light wore to ingratiate itself.

And the Darkling is nothing more than a story to frighten children.

000

It's not until your great-great grandson that the Grisha power returns, you wonder that it took so long and if you should be suspicious. Even though your daughter was _otkazat'sya_ Grisha lined up to marry her. Most only for the power and prestige it would grant them. You advised your daughter to marry for love and she did, to a Corporalki Healer.

Shadows come to your great-great grandson, Grigori, just as easily as breathing.

000

Once again you descend dark stairs, though this time as the world around you grows darker you summon a light.

When you finally see him after all these years you wonder at the fact that he's still young and handsome. Did you miss some scrap, some shard of his power? Is it regenerating? Is it some accident of the experiments he conducted?

All it takes is a Cut and his door is open. And you will watch, sure in the knowledge that if he tries anything you will be there to stop him again.

000

That first night you sit in bed and try to sleep, but every sounds sends you into fresh wakefulness; wondering if he's in the room. After all he's never hid his interest in your power, or your body, from you.

Eventually you seem to fret yourself to sleep, only to be wakened by a loud _bang_. You sit up, eyes darting around, for a moment to _does_ feel like he's in your room, lurking in a corner with that secret smile of his.

But as you gather light to your eyes, turning the room bright as day for you, you're disappointed to see that your room is empty. Though part of you is glad, you have no idea what you would do if he was here.

You get up, it will take you ages to get back to sleep anyways, and find yourself drawn to the window that overlooks the gardens. You open the curtain enough to peer through, blinking away some of the light you gathered so you're not blinded by the moon. There's quite a breeze outside, the nearby trees thrashing about; which is most likely what woke you up.

For a few brief moments the garden is empty, but then the Darkling drifts in, and you watch as he makes his way to the small patch of graves nearby.

You wonder if he feels the same sort of guilt you do. If he feels bad for what he did to Genya after he swore he would take care of her, if killing his mother plagues him.

Something draws his attention and he looks up. You know, _know_, it's too dark outside for him to see you, and yet your eyes meet and he smiles that secret smile of his.

You nearly rip the curtains off, you close them so fast. Just as quickly you retreat back to your bed.

Sleep is a long time coming.

000

When he introduces himself to others it's as Ivan, though whether it's after his fallen second in command or after the wife-thief of stories you don't know, or care.

000

The new technologies of Ravka seem only to amuse the Darkling, while you yourself love them: love the little glass bottles that sit out by day and are brought in at night to cast their glow inside houses for hours on end, love the trains and flying ships that can take you anywhere you wish to go in a matter of hours, as long as you can afford the Squaller.

To you it's proof of what Grisha and _otkazat'sya_ can do if they only work together.

000

You sit in on every lesson the Darkling gives. Ostensibly to make sure he doesn't do to Grigori what he tried to do to you. But you find yourself also paying attention to the lessons themselves.

He's centuries old, after all, he has much to teach.

000

No matter how much the Darkling wheedles, though you are sure he would be offended you call it wheeling, you don't give Grigori a black kefta. Instead you give him one much like your own, though shot through with black instead of gold.

000

In the end you grow tired of jumping at every shadow and wondering when the Darkling will make his move, though you know he'll make one, and move on with your life as best you can.

So when he finally does act it doesn't as a whole surprise you, after all you expected him to do something eventually, but what the act is does surprise you.

The only reason you can tell he has been in your room –_which use to be his room_, part of your mind reminds you– is from the fact that it smells of him again, winter and night. You wonder what he thinks of the changes you made, except for the wood panels –which you liked too much to get rid of– it's a completely different room, early dawn instead of deep night.

You shake those thoughts as best you can and stride over the the bedside table which has gained a small black lacquer box. There's no note, no card, the Darkling doesn't need one. Half dreading what's inside, the Darkling's gifts never end well, you open the box.

And blink in surprise at the set of ebony and opal hair pins resting on black velvet.

You don't pick them up, you don't examine them closer, you close the box and put it in a desk drawer.

The next day when you see him he doesn't interact with you beyond his usual light flirting and teaching. A small part of you is hurt. But after that you don't think of them again, except as a possible gift/ bribe, you smile at the Darkling's possible expression at seeing his gift on another woman.

000

As the months pass you let the Darkling have more freedom. Now more often than not, you not only see him at Grigori's lessons but also at war meetings, where he seems just as invested in the posting of the _nolniki_ as the actual generals are.

000

Unlike you, Grigori has a good head for politics; in the War Room everyone listens to him, even if they don't always agree with he's saying.

Grigori's even clever enough to force an agreement out of you: since you are the Lightbringer, leader of the Grisha, you will attend seven parties every year. One must be the king's birthday, two must be during Belyanoch, and the other four are at your discretion.

So, two days into Belyanoch you go to a party hosted by some important merchant whose name you cannot recall, you find that as the years pass things like names seem less important.

He is, of course, nearly tripping over himself to tell you how honored he is to receive you, and when you are announced, all the guests turn as one and bow, or curtsy, except for one man in the back, hiding a smile behind his glass, the Darkling.

As you descend to the ballroom guests clamor for your attention, your face slips into a polite mask –you remember when you chastised Nikolai for having too many, and wonder what he would think of yours– as you make small talk. Grateful, at least, that they only want your attention, not your blessings, or favors; no one associates the Lightbringer with Sankt Alina anymore.

You are having a chat with the Shu Han ambassador, things between your two countries have eased a little in the past two hundred years –thanks in part to Nikolai marrying a Shu Han princess after the Shadow War ended– and they no longer tear into Grisha, at least, not without a Corporalki healer nearby, when he approaches you. "Ambassador Temujin, if I may?" The Darkling is all ease and smiles as he steps between you.

The ambassador nods and smiles before wondering off to another knot of conversation. The Darkling holds out a hand. "May I have this dance Alina?"

The use of your name, which you haven't heard spoken in over a year, makes you shiver. Tentatively you place your hand in his, and bite back a small yelp when he pulls you onto the floor and into a dance you have never done before: one full of energy and exuberance that makes your heart race and your cheeks flush. He grins and his quartz eyes seem to light up as you leap and swirl around the dance floor, just one couple in a sea of them.

Applause rings out from those who didn't dance as the orchestra plays the last note. There's a moment of silence where your breathing sounds far too loud and his eyes seem far too bright, then the orchestra begins another, much slower, song.

You make to leave but he grabs your wrist, his fingers somehow cool against your heated skin and the bone fetter. "Another, please?"

Casting your mind back you try to remember if he has ever said please to you before. You can't recall a moment, and a little dumbfounded you let him lead your body in a waltz.

Minutes, or maybe only moments or maybe even hours later –you have lost track of time since this waltz started–, he speaks. "Has it ever been like this between us?"

You blink and look up at him. "Like what?"

Her grins, a brief flash of teeth. "Quiet."

A laugh nearly bursts from you, only a bitten lip manages to keep it from coming out. But he notices that and gives a real smile. "While I might never have wanted a woman who was too biddable, it's nice to have some semblance of peace between us."

You would be offended by his suggestion if you were not more distracted by his right hand, slowly making its way up from between your shoulders, questing, you are sure, for your collar. You have not let him touch it since he lost his powers, and you don't want to find out what would happen if he did, not here, not this way.

So you get a hold of yourself and deliberately stumble. You see something flash across his face before, smooth as anything, he recovers for the both of you. But at least his hand is back where it should be. He gives a brief incline of his head. "_Da, moi soverenyi_."

He doesn't speak again, and when the waltz is over he lets you go. You are not sure if you should be disappointed or not.

000

You do not intend to fall into bed with the Darkling, but in the end it's what happens. He doesn't gloat, or smile, or anything; he's as caught up in the moment as you are.

Later he's curled up half on you, running a hand through your hair absentmindedly. You don't worry about him touching the collar, nothing happened when you fucked and nothing will happen now. "Do you feel guilty?"

He speaks so quietly that for a moment you think you just imagined the question. When you answer it's just as quietly. "No." A part of you still loves Mal, and always will, but you have lived longer without him than with him now; and you try not to let his, or any other, ghost from the past dictate your choices now.

His hand moves from your hair to your arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingers. He hums a few bars of a song you don't recognize and you find yourself being lulled to sleep.

000

In the morning he lingers and as you sit to do your hair, you don't keep a maid anymore and don't desire a Tailor, he steps behind you and takes the brush from your hands. His hands begin pulling the brush through in smooth, firm strokes.

When all the tangles are gone from your hair you watch in the mirror as he goes to your desk and pulls out the drawer you hid the hairpins he gave you nearly a year ago in. "How many times have you been in my room?" You ask as he returns.

His smile is a bit self-deprecating. "Fewer times than I would've liked." With a deftness that surprises you he pins up your hair. You are almost curious enough to ask who taught him, but you also dread the answer and so don't.

When he finishes he leans down and kisses the nape of your neck, a chill races down your spine. "You'll ruin all your hard work," it's a half-hearted protest at best.

"I can try to do it again afterwards," he murmurs against your skin.

You think he's not only referring to your hair anymore. But before he can get any further you stand up. "I have classes to teach." You might be Ravka's only Sun Summoner, but there are still quite a few things you can teach the other Etherealki. He sighs, but does not push. At least not until you reach the door.

Before you realize it you have been spun around and he's kissing you. He gives you a cheeky grin when you pull away. You glare at him, but he's unrepentant. "Tonight?"

The question surprises you a little, but you don't have to ask what he means. "Yes."

His kiss is more lingering this time. "Then I will see you later."

The two of you go your separate ways.

000

The new dynamic in your relationship with the Darkling doesn't change the rest of your relationship: you arguments int the War Room are still infamous, especially when they are about the army. The Darkling wants to separate them again, First and Second once more, and you want to keep them integrated, _nolniki _still. Ravka has come a long way since his time and going back to those times will not fix the problems they have _now_.

After a particularly brutal meeting you don't linger but go straight to your chamber, sitting at your vanity and staring at your reflection, letting thoughts flit through your mind.

Sometimes the Darkling surprises you with how much he has changed, other times it's as if nothing has changed at all and you just want to give him a good shake. . .into a wall.

Absentmindedly you begin to play with light, holding faint beams of it between your hands you bring them up to your face and try to create new features in the light.

You can tell the Darkling has hired a new Tailor because he's starting to look _old_. You wonder if you could do it without the aid of a Tailor, even after all these centuries Genya still haunts you, you have never truly found the outer limits of your powers.

Between one moment and the next the face you have made in the light changes, the eyes there growing far too intelligent and knowing to be a mere construct. You clap your hands together and the light dispels.

You don't think you will try it again anytime soon.

000

One day you decide that Ravka doesn't need you anymore, or to be more precise: you remaining would only hurt Ravka, they don't need a repeat of the Darkling. You say that to his face that night as he, you, and Grigori move all your belongings from your quarters to Baghra's old hut. He surprises you by laughing at your words.

"You were always less selfish than I Alina."

You're not sure if it's the same, but you are selfish enough that once all your things are gone you insist they start taking down the wood paneling too. Its dark forest has grown on you over the centuries and you cannot imagine a bedroom without it. Grigori grins and asks if you want the feather mattress too.

You roll your eyes.

Once the room is empty you remove your blue and gold kefta and lay it on the bed for your guards to find in a few hours when they try to wake you.

There will be talk, of course, but you trust Grigori to make sure the king, or the Grisha, don't do anything too rash. And in the end the mystery will be good for Ravka. _Whatever happened to the Lightbringer?_

000

These days you are Alina again, though in the eyes of the young Grisha you teach theory to you're nothing more than an old woman who prefers to live in the hut in the woods where it's cold and wet, rather than the warmth and dryness of the Little Palace. You leave the running of the Grisha to Grigori, he still comes to you for advice though; but sometimes it's better for someone of your power to fade into obscurity, relatively speaking.

Light can fool the eye just as easily as it can blind it.

When you do not teach you are as young as you are, wandering the halls of the Palace as a servant, keeping an ear on everything. You rarely see the Darkling these days –though he sometimes still visits you at night your relationship has changed much in these past fifty years– , while politics holds no joy for you they are his bread and butter, you see him sometimes arguing with other advisers over this trade agreement, or that tax. He smiles more freely than you remember.

000

You smile a little every time you hear one of 'your' tales told. Even if they're completely false, they're still amusing to you. There are two different types: those of Sankt Alina and her miracles and those of Alina Svetonosnyy Grisha, queen, and warrior. Most of those tales are ones that you dimly recall from your own childhood, though the names have been changed: Alina now instead of Marya. You wonder if she was once actually alive and experienced the same thing in her old age.

000

In the end Grigori dies. When you first hear the news you find yourself shocked: you and the Darkling seem to be able to live forever, you thought the same of your great-great grandson. But you come to realize that you and the Darkling are the exception, not the rule: he because of his experiments –he finally told you one night a hundred, a hundred and fifty?, years ago– and you because of your amplifiers. "_There is too much light in you Alina, for you to die so easily." _Some days things like this bother you, but not all days.

After Grigori's death the Grisha are at a loss for what to do; they have always been lead by a Sun Summoner or a Night Bringer, yet they now have neither to fill the post –and you're not about to volunteer yourself again anytime soon–. In the end they elect Grigori's eldest child, a daughter named Yelena who is a Materialki Durast, to be their _soverenyi_, until such time as a Sun Summoner or a Night Bringer is found.

Like Grigori she sometimes comes to you for advice, but not because of your relation or because she knows you are the Lightbringer, no. She only knows you as the crotchety old teacher every Grisha has to endure, but in her eyes you're the oldest Grisha still around and so must know quite a lot about commanding, and dealing with difficult people, and other thinks of the like.

So you guide her as best you can, though for some matters you must send her to the Darkling.

000

When you discover the Darkling has somehow regained his powers you are both in bed. He's nibbling at your neck and you throw your head back in a gasp, a gasp that turns to an unromantic squawk when you realize the room has gone _dark_. You scramble away as best you can considering the size of your bed, and summon a sun; it's been so long since you have done so that the rush of power nearly makes you fall off the bed.

You stare at him, not sure if you should be accusing him of something or just asking how.

He holds up a hand as if to forestall your questions. "I _was _planning on telling you Alina."

You narrow your eyes. "When?"

He gives an unhappy smile. "Tonight, though it seems my control isn't as good as I thought it was."

The thought of him not being in control brings a little smile to your face. You know it's the thing he hates the most, but watching him act out against it is sometimes hilarious, as long as the two of your are alone –you don't think others would find it so amusing–. "So tell me."

He does, with surprising candor. They have only returned recently, a few days after Grigori's death, and that despite his experience and knowledge he can't seem to control the darkness as well as he used to.

When he finishes you let your sun dim and fade, leaving the two of you surrounded only by his darkness. You move towards him, leaning up a little to whisper in his ear. "Swear on my collar that you will not try to take over Ravka again." He tries to recoil but you grasp him tight. "Do it."

"Alina. . ."

"If you do not swear I will kill you." You are sure you could do it now, you may care for him but you also know him better than you did before. "If you do swear then know that if you try again I will find you and destroy the collar, and I do not care if I take everyone else with us."

You are certain he is staring at you and you almost summon a light to see what emotions are in his eyes, but you allow him that small measure of privacy. And after what feels like an eternity: "I swear Alina, _moi soverenyi_."

You pull him into a kiss and fall back onto the bed, taking him with you.

000

It takes you by complete surprise, discovering you are pregnant again.

When you tell the Darkling he just blinks and says nothing.

You don't know whether to laugh or punch him.

000

It's a boy this time. And this time his father stands next to you, staring as if he cannot believe the two of you made this. It brings a smile to your face. "What shall we name him?"

The Darkling blinks at you for a moment, before staring once more down at his son. "Nikolai."

000

Neither of you are that surprised when the examiners come and declare Nikolai a Grisha, it's the fact that he is a Tide-Turner that is the surprising bit.

The Darkling frowns down at Nikolai as the boy builds cities out of blocks, only to knock them down. "My mother was a Night Bringer and so was I, but twice now that hasn't been the case."

You wrap your arms around him and rest your chin on his shoulder. "Maybe it's me that's throwing your lineage awry." You grin as you say it and part of you hopes it's true, you always did enjoy things going awry in your favor.

The Darkling harrumphs and you laugh. "You sound like a grandfather."

He turn in your arms and arches an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Mmmm-hmmm."

He gives you a little grin before pulling you down for a kiss. Behind you Nikolai makes gagging sounds.

000

So many centuries have passed now that you can't even pass yourself off as an old Grisha anymore, and so have left the Little Palace for the wilds of northern Ravka, somewhere between Chernast and Ulensk. Your dim memories of this place are fond ones and you find a strange comfort in its harsh beauty.

Once every decade or so the Darkling will visit you. Telling you of life in Os Alta and what's happening with the Grisha. He's no longer an adviser, he has grown tired of pretending to grow old and return as a younger man, but he still lives in the Little Palace; he's made a warren of the walls he tells you proudly, no one ever knows he's there.

You are surprised that he's managed to keep to his word for this long, and yet still you can't relax, you sometimes let trappers or travelers stay in your house and you always ask them for news, and if there's a Grisha who calls himself the Darkling and is a Night Bringer. They always say no.

000

You stand as still as you possibly can, keeping your breathing steady as you slowly raise your rifle. You peer through the sight at the stag cropping grass a few feet away. Like you were taught lifetimes ago you breath in and slowly start pulling the trigger. You hold your breath for a few moments before pulling the trigger back completely and exhaling at the same time.

The bullet files not as true as you would have liked, only grazing the stag's neck, it, of course, bolts. With a snarl you toss the rifle to the ground and resign yourself to thin broth tonight.

A low chuckle behind you has you whirling around to see the Darkling leaning against a tree. You cross your arms. "It's not funny."

He smiles. "It's a little funny Alina." He strides over and gives you a hug. "And how are you this fine decade?"

You give a huff of laughter. "Cold." You extract yourself from his grasp, pick up your rifle, and begin walking back to your cabin. Turning your head slightly you see the Darkling still standing at the tree line, you roll your eyes. "Are you coming?"

He comes.

000

Back in your cabin you discover he has somehow managed to bring a feast with him, not that you're complaining. After getting plates the two of you sit by the fire and talk of your time apart.

He tells you about life at the Little Palace and how Grigori's decedents still rule the Grisha. Of how the tzar had finally decided there should be peace with the Fjerdians, he's Vasily the third and you hope he has better luck than his namesake. Spearheading the whole thing, the Darkling tells you with a proud glint in his quartz eyes, is your great granddaughter by Nikolai.

Her name is Marya, you have a little laugh over that, and she is a Corporalki Healer, though because of her passion for peace everyone has taken to calling her 'the Negotiator'.

You time has not been spent so interestingly, but you tell him anyways of the village that sprouted nearby and how you are trying to raise chickens.

Eventually your talk subsides into other think and when morning comes you wave him off and return to your own life.

000

Pregnancy this time doesn't really surprise you, oh you were not expecting it true, but it doesn't surprise you.

After a few days of wavering between leaving to find the Darkling and staying at your cabin you decide to stay. You know that he doesn't always remain in the Little Palace, and if time has taught you nothing else it's to be patient, he'll return to your cabin in a few years and he'll see his children then.

As it stands you have things here to do.

The midwife cleans up as you stare at your two children. A boy and a girl, both with thin strands of black hair fuzzing a little in the heat of the cabin; you're happy they have his hair, both Baghra and Nikolai had taken after you in looks but you find you want children that look like their father.

The girl, Genya, stretches out her chubby arms and hands, then opens her eyes to look at you.

You stare back: her left eye is midnight black while the right is a yellow so pale it's nearly white. Slowly you turn your head to look at your son, Malyen. His eyes are the same colors, thought it's his right that is black and his left pale yellow.

They both begin to fuss and you gratefully go about feeding them. The midwife says her goodbyes, to which you absentmindedly respond, and you are alone.

As you watch Mal and Genya you realize that for the first time in over five hundred years you are seeing something new in the world.

XXX

Oof-da, and there you have it. (If you caught them, yes that was a Deathless reference, and yes that was a Star Wars reference.)


End file.
